Sangre
by anyadoll
Summary: Blood will have blood, in the end, she guessed.
1. Just Because It Burns

A/N: I'm pretty sure this is going to be a multi chapter, but not a long one, so bear with me, I have a lot going on right now! **Fun fact: _Sangre_ is Spanish for _Blood_, which is where the name/color of _Sangria _is derived from. The lyrics throughout are "Try" by Pink. Please, listen to this song. It is GOREGEOUS.

**Sangre**

_Ever worried that it might be ruined_

_And does it make you wanna cry?_

_When you're out there doing what you're doing_

_Are you just getting by?_

_Tell me are you just getting by, by, by_

Prelude

All she could taste was the metallic tang of blood. It lingered heavy in the air, a thick cloud of iron. She couldn't breathe.

Her head lolled to the side, pillowed by red feathers. It wasn't a comfort, where she was. The feathers were wet and sticky, and she couldn't move to stand, to get away from it all. It hurt too much. So she remained still.

Her name reverberated off the walls and in her ears and they all seemed so far away. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, and nothing sounded better than sleep. Her eyes wouldn't close though, staring wide at an empty black room.

Maybe she should wait. She could wait a little longer to sleep, couldn't she?

Somewhere a light turned on. It grew brighter, taking over the black room.

She closed her eyes against the brightness.

This time, it was easy.

She slept.

XOX

Their easy dynamic had significantly changed in the past year. Maybe too much had happened. Maybe too little. The smiles were more than forced, the jokes stiff and stilted, the happy gleam lacking.

She told herself it wasn't her fault. She hadn't run off to Vegas and ditched her life, her job, her friends, just to come crawling back with a false air of superiority. She hadn't slept with the mistress of the devil himself, hadn't given up a decade of celibacy for a wolf in sheep's clothing.

That hurt, still. Because his apologies had been tactless and trite. He'd all but scolded her for implying he couldn't sleep with whoever he wanted. And the gall to kiss _her_ in the interrogation room still burned bright in her memory palace. The darkness was overtaking the last of the light inside her. She could feel herself becoming detached, drifting aimless in the mess of her own making.

Most days she could get by. The cases were distracting; the conversations with her team would help throughout the day. Even Tommy Volker managed to be a good distraction, if but for a few months before his inevitable capture. That Jane had helped her should have been a sign of something good. Should have been, but wasn't. They both knew, deep down, that when she had to ask, plead, him for help that there was something inherently _wrong_ with the pair.

She'd never asked anything of him, after all.

They were heading for a breakdown. The kind no one saw coming and only ended badly. She could feel that moment building in her veins, in the back of her mind, hidden away where no one could see. Not even Jane.

His fumble had come days ago. Watching her movements for signs of anything, listening to her tone for stress or anger. It was the strange catch in his eye, the slight raise of his brow and the knit in his forehead as her gaze connected with his. Awe, maybe? There was abject confusion in his face as he tried to cold read her body language. She knew she gave so much away, a heart on her sleeve person by nature. His eyes dimmed though, stumped by her offness. The dark smile came and left her lips in the flash of a microsecond. Her body language and her blush were gone, unreadable. He could only see what she wanted him to see now.

She should not have been proud of that. But she was. The student truly had become the master. She'd beat Patrick Jane at his own game. She'd have time to feel ashamed later.

Their relationship chipped a little more when Red John struck again. A psychologist had gone on and on in a scholarly article about her insight into the "Mind of the Mad Man," blaming his controlling mother or his absent father for one fault or another. Either way, Holly Collins was dead.

And Patrick Jane disappeared into his attic, little black book in hand.

It continued to chip, chiseled smaller and smaller as the months went by with nothing to show for every turn they made.

She wondered when there would be nothing left to carve.

XOX

It was an infrequently rainy day, all gray clouds and thunder claps in Sacramento when they broke. She pushed and he pulled and they'd ended up screaming long trails of obscenities and the cruelest of words at each other alone in his attic. So the gauntlet had been thrown.

The worst of it was whispered.

"_I've had enough. We're done. I just can't do this anymore." _It had come out harsh and bitter with the catch in her throat. And she didn't regret it. She wasn't sure what scared her more.

But his words had been far crueler than hers. Hers were honest; his were unkind.

"_Did we ever begin?" _He said like cold steel, imbedded with a rich hatred. _"It's not like this mattered." _ He'd waved a hand between them and she fell apart at the seams. Watched the gold ring flicker in the flash of lightening with her fists clenched and head held high, defiant. There was nothing left to hold her, and he surely wouldn't. She turned away, keeping her poise. She wouldn't give him that kind of satisfaction.

The team knew something was wrong, but remained oblivious. Or at least, they tried too. Jane rarely showed his face, and when he did, Lisbon was nowhere to be seen. He reported to Cho instead, meeting the Asian's mans curious gaze every time he did so. He rode with Rigsby, not so much a conversationalist now that Ben wasn't allowing him the sleep he was used too. Van Pelt was surprisingly the hardest to shake. Her inquiring glances were connecting the dots, deep romantic that she was.

She didn't realize the romance was a tragedy.

XOX

Another month followed, the silence deafening.

XOX

The message was for her, and her alone.

_Be careful what you wish for, _echoed inside her head.

She'd inadvertently made a plea of her own to the maniacal serial killer. The force at which she'd cursed the mans name on live TV had the cameras flashing and pens flying rapidly across paper. She'd marked herself, and the media knew it.

Truth was, she'd been marked long ago. She was getting sick of waiting for the end, it's not like it would be entirely climatic.

After, Jane had spoken to her for the first time in two silent months, cornering her in the lobby while she waited for the elevator. "Watch yourself, please," was all he muttered half shrouded in shadow, not meeting her eyes, before hesitantly climbing the stairs once more.

_So the tin man had a heart_. She hadn't meant to think the comment snidely, but it had become habit.

The message came to her home in the form of a note tacked to her own front door.

_If you wanted to meet me so desperately, Agent Lisbon,_

_You could have just asked. _

_RJ_

It was stamped with his logo; she couldn't help but wonder whose blood he'd used.

Though he hadn't given her a location, a date, a time, Teresa Lisbon had the sinking suspicion he'd find a way to get her alone.

And he did, two days later, effectively separating her team from their leader. She'd sent the team to investigate the location where a murder/suicide had happened, while she'd gone, initially, to interview a selection of doctors that Jane believed had prescribed the victims with a particularly nasty drug that did not belong in their systems. The kind the FDA hadn't approved.

A call came across her cell phone, a number she didn't recognize. "Lisbon," she answered in lieu of a greeting.

A long pause traversed the line. "Since you're alone, I believe we should meet, Agent Lisbon."

She clutched the steering wheel, nails digging into the thick upholstery. How had he known she was alone? "Where?" she asked instead.

He gave a soft laugh. "Just follow my directions. Turn right at your next stop light."

The directions continued for half an hour, until she was so turned around she thought he may have been leading her on. "Are you screwing with me?" she demanded, irritated by the lengthy drive.

"Now, now, Agent Lisbon, haven't you heard? I have quite the temper when talked down to. Besides, your destination is approaching on your left."

The click signified the end of the conversation.

She pulled up shortly to an abandoned house, ground covered in roof shingles and unkempt weeds. _This seems like a brilliant idea_, she thought plaintively. She really did have a death wish. Jane would surely think she'd gone insane.

_Wouldn't that be a trip?_

Her hand hesitated on her gun. It wouldn't save her, she knew. He'd had hundreds of opportunities to kill her or Jane, and he hadn't. Red John's game needed its players, but it also needed its spectators. She'd been the spectator too long. It was time to join the game.

For her sake and for his.

She left the gun on the seat, along with her cell phone and her badge. She wasn't a cop right now. Maybe she hadn't been in a while. After everything that had happened with Volker, she'd gotten a taste of the darkness that Jane worshipped so much. She began to understand it.

She began to _like_ it.

How else could she explain this meeting? Lisbon had gotten her affairs in order shortly after Jane's return from Vegas. She'd laughed it off before, the ridiculous idea that she was to be Red John's pawn. And then her head had been demanded and suddenly it was all so real. Sure she'd been injured on the job before, but she'd never feared for her life. It was a part of the job; at least that's what she told herself. But as the hits kept coming, the Lorelei's and the Hardy's and the Rebecca's all culminating in an attempt to get Jane to join the madness by killing her, she'd finally began to realize the weight of it all. She'd gone to see a lawyer in the following weeks of Wainwright's death, amending her will.

She'd told no one, with good reason.

Lisbon took a deep breath, knocking on the rickety door, even as the motion jogged its hinges. The door opened slowly by a phantom hand; the inside dark and damp. With the state of the outside, the interior was sure to be full of secret traps of its own. Maybe he counted on that. Another breath, and she was inside the silent house.

A small table lamp in the corner flamed to life.

"I've been waiting a very long time for this meeting, Agent Lisbon."

She cringed at the voice, muffled behind the mask. "That makes one of us," she replied evenly.

"Come now, you're the one that called for me, remember? I'm assuming you're here to discuss our mutual friend," he stated the last part as if he already knew the answer, and he wasn't far off. Red John walked slow circles around her. "Then again, perhaps not. The two of you don't seem to be on speaking terms lately. That's a shame, really. I quite enjoy your conversations, all filled with intrigue and disguised lust."

Her head jerked up. "What does that mean?" she asked, clenching her fists as the darkness washed over her in waves.

"It means what it means," he replied flippantly. "There are reasons I've kept you alive, Miss Lisbon, much as I'd love to see Patrick's anguish consume him a second time. Keeping you alive keeps him actively on guard. Watching him squirm is invigorating."

"You really are a cruel bastard," she sneered bitterly.

"Any less cruel than him?" She stilled at that. "Last I heard, he said you were nothing to him. That you didn't _matter._ Now, I'm a romantic at heart so I have to say I wholeheartedly disagree. Why tell someone that they don't matter? To keep them away, as he's been doing. He thinks he's keeping you out of danger, that I can't see past this stony exterior he's created so elaborately. I am not a fool, Miss Lisbon. I've known him longer than you have. I know what I see."

"And what is it that you see?" her numb voice asked.

He laughed. She cringed again. "I see a man so in love he will do _anything_ to save her, including forcing her out of his life. I see a woman ready to do the same."

"You couldn't know that. And it isn't true anyways," Lisbon whispered.

"Really? Then why not give me your head? Why not let you get shot by that fool of a protégé all those years ago when he had all the answers Patrick could have used? All the reasons point to you, Miss Lisbon. You have an undeniable hold on our friend, one neither of you will admit too. He's put his revenge towards me on hold for you, time and again. I'd say you were in the way, but really, you've just added another dimension to this. I hold all the cards here, and you have to understand I can take you down at any moment, dear."

"What is it that you want then? Where is this leading, because you're sounding an awful lot like Jane when he has a plan," she said warily.

He finally stilled his circling, coming to stand no more than a foot away from her. "I'm giving you an opportunity, Teresa. One that will satisfy all parties involved. You want to be a part of the game, so I will give you your role. You have ten weeks to get him to admit what I've known all along, and don't come at me with that paltry love he claimed before he shot you. I want the real thing, Miss Lisbon, or I will take you out of the game forever. I will not make trades, this is all I want."

"Why ten weeks, and what do you get out of this? What do we?"

"One for every year he's known you. I get my answer. You get me."

She scoffed. "Why don't I believe that?"

He smirked behind the mask. A gloved hand rose towards her neck and she almost stepped back reflexively, but she held still. He grasped the tiny cross in his thumb and forefinger, turning it over.

"Have a little _faith_, Teresa."

XOX

She forgot about the interview with the doctors, choosing to drive straight home instead. She'd called Cho, explaining that she'd gotten lost and had been running low on gas. He'd spoken his acquiescence and sent Rigsby and Van Pelt to lead the interviews.

Jane sensed something was wrong. Her gas tank, at a glimpse, had been in the three quarters vicinity.

He had to admit that even he was growing tired of their silence. He missed his friend dearly; the other three members of the team merely rough stand-ins. Regardless of how angry they'd been at each other, he had to admit a fair amount of it had been his fault.

And he'd ended their argument by telling her she didn't matter to him, the most vast of understatements in the history of their fights. She mattered, more than he would ever be able to express with words. She expressed it with her devotion, a trait he didn't possess. He could claim devotion to his late wife, as she'd figured; but it wasn't devotion that kept him going. It was the simple guilt of a life unlived with Angela and their daughter. It was to Lisbon alone that he felt that strange devotion forming, the devout desire to keep her alive and away from a monster such as he.

She'd never understand, so he pushed her out. Or maybe he wouldn't give her the chance to understand. He sighed heavily, knowing he had to talk to her. She'd gone somewhere today, a place she shouldn't have gone and it had frightened her and he had to know where and why.

For the first time in a long time he knocked on her front door.

When she answered, she didn't seem all that surprised to find him loitering on her porch. In fact, the look in her eyes told him she'd been expecting him. She took a small step back from the door, allowing him to enter.

He followed without preamble.

"Lisbon, we need to talk."

"That we do Jane," she mumbled. Her motions were skittish, touchy. Her relaxed tone was forced. She was hiding something big.

"You have a at least half a tank of gas."

She looked confused. "You came all this way to tell me how much gas I have in my car?"

"You lied to Cho, earlier. You never lie Lisbon, not even when it's imperative that you do. Not even for your own safety. You're the most honest person I know, so why lie?"

"I got lost," she replied, like she'd rehearsed the line in her head. She may have closed herself off to his ability to read her, but the lie screamed at him. Warning bells and all. "Besides, what do you care? I get lost once and all of a sudden you're concerned for me? What about the last two months? I thought I didn't matter to you. I thought your revenge was more important."

He winced. She'd been holding that back for a long time. He couldn't blame her for it. He was great at ruining things. Repairing them though, that was the tricky part. They were still in shambles because of Vegas, and the fight two months prior had only cracked the foundation more. It would take an army of architects to rebuild them.

He looked away from her. _When had she become so good at confrontation? _"I didn't mean it, Teresa," Jane whispered, injecting every ounce of sincerity in his body into the apology. Biofeedback was great, but it wouldn't get him out of this. "I was angry at everything. I'm still angry. In ten years we've gotten nowhere. Every lead, dead. Every suspect, dead. I feel like I'm tilting at windmills, hoping to grasp something solid and _real_ and I just can't do it," he paused, looking into her green eyes finally. He saw something different in their depths, not the usual warmth and concern, it was there but diluted by something…else. An emotion, maybe, that he'd never seen on her before, or some new realization. Either way, he found himself hurt by it. Confused by this strange woman in front of him. "I feel like I've failed them, and by association, I've failed you."

As soon as the indefinable emotion came, it was gone. The familiar concern glossed it over eerily quickly. "Oh, Jane. You need to tell me stuff like this. You may be a mind reader but I'm not. You _hurt_ me, Jane. I didn't deserve what you said," she sniffed quietly, swiping furiously at her cheeks. "But you didn't deserve what I said either."

He nodded his agreement, approaching her with slow caution, placing his hands on either side of her face. "You _matter_ Teresa. You matter to me, to such an infinite extent I doubt you'd ever be able to comprehend it. It is hard to push you away, to be so desperate to keep you safe, but so miserable and selfish as to want you close."

She bit her lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. He kissed her forehead gently, pulling her into his embrace.

Oh how she wanted to tell him. But to risk herself now, now when she could prove what she hoped she could prove. When the possibility that she could catch _him_ raged in the recesses of her tattered mind.

The undeniable knowledge that he was quite literally _always watching_ and had been since day one caused ice cold fear to entomb her spine. As if permanent goosebumps would rise on her skin.

Jane seemed to feel her distress through her clothes, the coldness sinking in, settling for the long haul. He was curious, knew something was horribly awry in her little world and she wasn't about to let him fix it.

Ten weeks. She had a deadline to keep.

She'd made it through the first phase unscathed. She guessed she could name them; it only seemed appropriate.

Phase One: Apology.


	2. Where There Is Desire

**A/N:** So as I've always lived on the East Coast, I have no idea what kind of festivals they have on the west. Give me some creative license here. Also, how about the epicness of Red Barn? Loved the "partnership" at the end, let's hope this continues as it's much appreciated by those of us who love this camaraderie.

I've gotten a few questions about if the rating will change in this: my answer is I've never written an M story, and I probably won't start now. Yes, there is a small chance it could change but I will most likely stay safely in the T zone. Lisbon's character may be a bit OOC, but it's due to the whole "you have a deadline, hurry up" issue so bear with me while I sort her out.

The lyrics throughout are "Try" by Pink.

**Sangre**

_Funny how the heart can be deceiving_

_More than just a couple times_

_Why do we fall in love so easy?_

_Even when it's not right…_

XOX

Teresa realized that two and a half months wasn't a lot of time to convince someone they loved you, to truly mean it. It sounded easy enough, but easier said then done in the end. Especially when the man you loved was still very much in love with a ghost.

That was the kind of love you couldn't live up to, literally.

She knew her feelings, always desperately trying to bury them in the hidden corners of her memory palace. It was all she could do to get through the day when he'd run off on one crazy scheme or another.

It had already been two weeks since the apology. He'd bring her coffee or a bear claw, but other than this gesture, they'd made no further progress after and she couldn't help thinking her time was already running out. Red John was quite literally forcing her hand, demanding such an outrageous confession just for kicks. She'd agreed to it to save Jane's life, maybe her own too. She knew she was playing with fire, and she couldn't let Jane find out. Eight weeks was all she had.

Eight weeks.

Fifty-six days.

Over a thousand hours to come up with some way to tempt or seduce or convince, if she could just gather that last ounce of courage. It wasn't a matter of attraction; they had that in spades. She may have been out of the dating pool for a while, too caught up with him and his demons to find her own life, but was there a life without him? After everything they'd been through, constantly went through, she wasn't sure if anyone could ever handle that heavy of a burden. She'd never rid herself of Jane, she'd known that on day one, and getting involved with anyone else but him seemed moot now. Even a serial killer could see it.

Who would be able to take her _and_ Jane, as long as they both shall live?

They were an oddly paired package deal.

She lamented her inability to figure out how, and where, to ask him out. Asking him out to dinner was too common an occurrence between them, and would be seen as a friendly gesture. Movies were silly since you couldn't exactly _talk_. Any place that he could whip out his conning skills and magic tricks was yet another horrible idea.

And then it hit her. It may be childish, a little out there, but she held back a secret smile at the thought.

She knew _exactly_ where to take Jane.

XOX

_Peculiar. _

That was the word that struck him when he was around Lisbon now. Their vow of silence may have been broken, but her attitude was just so damn _strange. _She'd been acting strangely since the day of the apology two weeks ago. Maybe he hadn't apologized properly, or not enough. He couldn't tell by the day to day.

She'd stare a little too long his way before he'd catch her in it, she'd avoid him all day and then make awkward attempts to touch him, yelled at him a little more and then turned around and (actually) apologized to him for it, and her style choices had taken a sudden turn to the provocative. Oh, she'd never wear a skirt to the office to be sure, but the jeans were a little tighter in all the right places and the button downs were a little less _buttoned down_.

It was as if her actions volleyed somewhere between desperate attraction and cool disposition. It was the _desperate_ part of this recognition that frightened him. Their dynamic had always been far from normal, but now it was just…different. At least he seemed to be the only one that noticed this sudden shift, else they'd be in real trouble.

She was spooked, and that was the best word for it. The few chances he'd been able to glance his fingers over her wrist, he found an uneven, shaky, nervous beat. She blinked more, tapped her fingernails, and chewed her pen caps to oblivion. She possessed a secret she wasn't willing to share. Whatever it was had altered her dramatically.

His concern outweighed his confusion over the whole mess. Perhaps tricking her into asking him out would open the door for the conversation. Maybe a few glasses of wine and chocolate cake would be enough to ply her secret out. He'd once said he'd never seduce her over a meal, but if this were going to work in his favor, he may have to break that rule.

Jane sighed, leaning back on the cot in his attic as he contemplated the best way to go about this situation.

He didn't get a chance to ruminate long as the soft knock came at the door. "Come in, Lisbon," he called. It was never not her; she was the only one who ever dared set foot in the dusty attic he'd claimed as his own. It was his version of office space.

She smiled, radiant as ever. She'd never understand how hard it was to resist the pull she had on him. It had surprised him, initially, when he realized there was a pluck at a heartstring that moment Hardy tried to shoot her. It was in that brief space of a second that his heart tethered a lifeline to hers, and he'd only pulled closer through the years, despite what she thought.

For all his faults and frailties, she wouldn't let him go. His betrayal, leaving her for Vegas like a vagabond, sleeping with Lorelei and all the witches' drastic measures to drive a wedge in that lifeline had failed; they were still inextricably linked.

Even after all the ugly words they threw at each other, the darkness had passed.

Well, it had passed for him at least. It still lingered in the vestiges of her lovely emerald eyes, and he wished she would tell him why. Had he not been clear in his apology?

She interrupted his thoughts, sitting rather close to him on the cot. This was new. She never initiated anything unless he was in dire straits.

"So, I was thinking," she began carefully, staring somewhere far off. "I haven't been to the beach in a long time. And there's this festival they're having out on the sand. Annie was supposed to go with me but she had to cancel last minute, and I was kind of looking forward to going."

She was playing the sympathy card. Annie wasn't anywhere near California right now; instead she'd been staying with her mother while Tommy was taking night classes.

Jane nodded, catching the clear lie. She really was a horrible actress. He wasn't going to make this easy for her. "Well, I think Van Pelt cancelled her appointment to the spa, perhaps she'd enjoy the beach?"

She looked thoroughly abashed. "Well…I…um…I know you like the beach, so I was thinking, maybe, you'd like to go?"

He smirked. He'd _played her_! She hadn't been this incensed since…well…when wasn't she? She huffed, irritated.

"I'm trying to be nice, you know! This is hard. We haven't really gotten a chance to talk, with the last two months and all…" she trailed off quietly. "I just thought maybe…it would be a nice gesture." Her fingers twisted into pretzels in her lap until he snatched one hand up in his.

"I promise, dear, I wasn't making fun. It's just really interesting to watch you struggle with your words…it's rare," Jane said, attempting to ease the frazzled beat in her wrist that still concerned him. "And it sounds like a grand idea. I haven't been to the beach in a while either, and it's a nice evening for a stroll."

Her grin was wide and shy, another new addition to her personality. "Pick me up at eight," she stated. No question.

"Wait a minute, aren't you supposed to pick _me_ up? You asked me out!" He questioned laughingly. She stood, the smile still in place.

"I thought you were old fashioned Jane?" She mocked lightly.

"Well, if old fashioned is what you wanted, then prepare for doors to be opened, and you may as well leave your wallet at home. And if we're being really old fashioned here, perhaps I should call your brothers for their permission to take you out on this date!"

That took the mocking right out of her. "Jane, don't you dare call my brothers, and who said this was a date?"

She slipped out the door before he could argue, leaving him alone to contemplate this sudden change.

"You did," he whispered quietly.

XOX

Every time she discarded an outfit option, she remembered this was Jane she was dressing for. He'd seen her in virtually every (pant suit) item that she owned. She'd effectively run out of anything impressive. She had nothing.

For a moment, she felt sixteen, trying to impress the popular boy on the first day of school.

This _was_ a date, after all. No matter how much she denied it. Jane knew it.

Maybe it was good he could read her so well. She'd opened back up, little by little, but left the lingering secret protected. She'd made it clear he could read what she wanted him to read, and nothing else.

He seemed concerned more than curious about it. She was sure he suspected, but feared the confrontation. Not that she could blame him, she feared it just as much, knowing full well everything she was doing would come to light eventually. The how and the when would be the only two checkboxes up to her. Teresa held onto that last bit of control for dear life.

Unfortunately, dressing for this occasion was impossible. She wanted to look pretty, like the woman she was; not like a repressed cop who only wore dress slacks and the occasional pair of heels. Lisbon shoved a chunk of hangers to the side, wincing at the screech they caused as they skittered across the metal rod, until she found _it_. There it was, hanging forgotten in the darkness. Hidden in the recesses of her closet was a blouse she'd yet to wear from one of the excursions she'd had the misfortune to go on with Van Pelt.

She grasped the thin, silky fabric with her fingers lovingly. She'd never admit how much she adored the top, but with so few occasions to wear it, she'd forgotten its existence. The pale jade green would compliment her eyes perfectly, a feature she knew Jane appreciated. She pulled the floaty top over loosely curled raven hair, relishing the flash of cleavage the "V" created as she pushed the pearl like buttons through the tiny tabs and cuffed the sleeves. Her darkest wash skinny jeans paired well, and since they would be traversing the beach, sandals were the best option.

Now all she could do was wait.

Not long though, as Jane was ever the punctual sort. He appeared promptly at eight on her doorstep, a bouquet of white Easter lilies in his hand. She couldn't prevent the profuse blush that spread rampantly across her features.

His smirk at her discomfort was gentle, different from his usual sly grins. Jane held the bouquet out towards her, and she accepted them tentatively. "They're beautiful Jane, thank you," she said politely, not bothering to ask how he knew they were her favorites. At this point, it was a fact she accepted, that he knew everything, almost anyways, about her.

"Not as beautiful as the recipient," he replied with a wink.

Lisbon rolled her eyes dramatically. "That's cheesy Jane, _especially_ for you." She took a moment to place the lilies in a vase before returning to her suitor, sliding her arm into his.

"Well you wanted old fashioned, Teresa. Be careful what you wish for," he whispered softly. The happy smile faded as the second half of the sentence chimed a warning in her mind. She wasn't doing this for pleasure, or even self-satisfaction. She was doing this for a serial killer with a price on their heads and a deadline to keep. Someday, maybe, he'd forgive her for everything he'd eventually find out. Someday they might actually have a chance at _this_.

Because for now, it was all a show.

XOX

The beach, of course, was beautiful. The sun had long set, but the glow of game booths and cheap carnival rides lit the water with a rainbow of unearthly, dancing colors. A few bedraggled clowns wandered aimlessly, passing out balloon animals to small children and squirting adults with the silly fake flowers pinned to their lapels.

Jane already purchased fluffy pink cotton candy for her, a true staple at a festival, and popcorn for himself. They took in the flickering lights and swirling rides in a strange, comfortable silence. As if speaking would disturb the joyful noise in the atmosphere. Rarely was there a peace like this.

He came to a stop at one of the game booths, so suddenly that she stumbled into him.

"Jane, seriously," she grunted.

"Fitz?" he questioned lightly. The man in question was a beast of a man; dark brown beard shrouding most of his face, bald on top save for the top hat he occasionally waved ecstatically, trying to draw in players. He leaned heavily on a cane that seemed to have seen better days but remained steady, nonetheless.

He squinted, recognition crossing the fine lines of his weathered face. "Well, Lord have mercy! Patrick Jane? What in the name of my beard are you doin' here?" He roared happily. The man, Fitz, all but jumped over the booth's stairs, throwing his arms around Jane and picking him up off his feet.

"Teresa, this is Fitz Mulroney, he's Pete's cousin," Jane coughed out, suffering from being squished in the large man's arms. Fitz dropped Jane unceremoniously when he caught sight of the petite brunette.

"Hi, Fitz, right? I'm Teresa Lisbon," she laughed, watching Jane gasp for breath in the sand. He shook her hand, removing his hat as he did so.

"Well, she's quite a looker Patrick. Where did you find this one?"

Jane had finally caught his breath, hands still planted on his knees for support. Lisbon was flushed, not used to this level of outright attention.

"This one? This one I found at the CBI," Jane said laughingly, shooting her a sideways glance.

"The CB what?" Fitz queried.

"California Bureau of Investigation," Lisbon replied automatically, practiced in the art of the response.

"What the hell did you do now, Patrick?"

Jane held his hands up defensively. "Nothing, if you must know. I'm a consultant for her."

Fitz raised a bushy eyebrow at the implication. "Well, in that case, sign me up to be a consultant then."

"Trust me, Jane's all the consultant I can handle, but we'll see Fitz," Lisbon answered the flirty, bear of a man before her.

"Well, the least I can do is let Patrick here try to win his lovely lady a prize," Fitz waved at his booth merrily. Jane chuckled at the prospect.

"For a fee, I'm guessing," Jane responded. Fitz laughed.

"How about first round on me?"

Jane shrugged, acquiescing to the cajoling of his former…friend? "Why not, if the first round is on you, after all."

Lisbon smirked, watching the back and forth of the familiarity. "Jane, I'm going to find the ladies room, win me the white bear?"

"Sure Lisbon, anything for you," he replied with a tone that belied the seriousness hidden within.

She wandered off in the direction of the restrooms, wanting to give Jane time to catch up with what was clearly a friend from his past. The characters that dotted his colorful history always amused her. He certainly had not led a boring life by any means. Hers may not have been conventional, raising three brothers for a good portion of her childhood, but his had been downright bizarre at times. They both eventually escaped, but they both also still remained chained to the events that shaped them.

"Would you like a reading by Madame Pria?"

Lisbon jumped, caught off guard by the tall, middle-aged woman to her right. She wore midnight blue robes and thousands of silver and gold chains. She embodied everything Jane would cynically call a charlatan, robbing people blind at the expense of a false future. Then again, it was a festival. Other than Jane, she'd never gone near a psychic, true, false, or otherwise.

"Why not?" Lisbon responded, eschewing her beliefs to embrace the frivolity. Jane did tell her she needed to be spontaneous more than once. She took the seat offered by the woman, Pria, a name she was sure was as false as the crystal ball on the table next to theirs, sliding the requisite eight dollars across the small table.

"Your hands, dear," Pria said, nodding to Lisbon's folded hands. "Palm up, if you will."

Lisbon flipped her hands, resting her elbows on the table's edge. Pria placed her elbows in a similar manner, grasping Lisbon's left palm, tracing the lines along it carefully, eyes closed in concentration.

She was quiet for a long moment.

Lisbon couldn't help the small Jane voice in the back of her head that laughed at her. She would never tell him she stopped here.

"You have a secret you can't tell a friend. You're afraid that something bad will happen. Your aura is cloudy, suggesting anxiety over this…situation. It's put you at a fork, a significant fork in your life…" The psychic trailed off, knitting her brows in concern that Lisbon couldn't decipher as real or fake. She knew Jane was a cold reading pro, but that itself was a hard trick to master. "There's no solution to the fork, I'm sorry. It's too undecided for me to read, but it proves your uncertainty. You need to choose soon though, that much is clear. You don't have a lot of time."

Lisbon eyed the woman warily, glancing at her watch. If she didn't head back soon Jane would worry and inevitably come looking for her. She pulled her hand from the woman's grasp. "Look, thank you, for the reading, but I have to go," Lisbon rushed as politely as possible, standing abruptly.

The woman caught her hand before she could turn. "Look, I understand that you're suspicious, that you don't believe me. It's written all over your face, dear. But listen too me when I say you don't have long to make whatever decision it is you have to make. Be careful."

The psychic let her wrist go, and Lisbon felt the woman's eyes on her as she walked quickly back to Jane. Now she knew what paranoia was, as a fleeting thought that the carnival psychic could be in Red John's pocket ran through her mind. With the man's vast reach, she was sure it couldn't be impossible. It was a good way to rile her, keep a close watch on her nerves.

She stood back, keeping a distance between her and Jane as she watched him throw the rings around the rigged sticks that they needed to encircle. Like the sticks in the game, her entire life had become rigged. She was a puppet on Red John's strings.

Jane turned, feeling her presence. Fear was written on her face, and she didn't have a chance to hide it in that second. Fitz passed him the white bear that he hadn't won with a wink, knowing his old friend may need a bit of help in his situation. Jane gave a brief nod, passing Fitz a ten, which he refused. He didn't want his friends money. He was just happy his friend had moved on.

He made his way to the petite brunette, holding out the white bear. She smiled, the fear gone, replaced by the impassive, blank mask she'd adopted since their apology. "You alright Lisbon? You look like you've seen a ghost."

She shrugged. "It's nothing. A touchy clown practically assaulted me on my way back here. I never liked clowns very much."

It was another lie he saw right through, but chose not to push. He didn't have a right to ask yet. "A lot of people are afraid of clowns, Lisbon, that's nothing to be ashamed of," he replied laughingly.

She looked abashed. "I am not afraid of clowns, I simply said I didn't like them very much. I'm not six, Jane."

"Whatever you say, dear. Why don't we go try out the Ferris wheel. It looks like the most promising ride here. And by promising, I mean stable."

"And now I have to be afraid of the Ferris wheel. Thanks, Jane," she replied, rolling her eyes and bumping his shoulder with hers.

"I promise you can hold my hand the entire time if you're scared."

All that elicited was another eye roll.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"What, seeing you scared for once, or holding your hand? I'm good with either, but I prefer the latter," he answered cheekily.

"You are utterly incorrigible, Patrick Jane," Lisbon replied dryly, a touch of wistfulness in her tone.

"Yes, I certainly am."

XOX

The non-date date had gone fairly well, by both of their standards. They'd ridden the Ferris wheel, the carousel, and a ride they couldn't recall but had made their stomachs churn without much incident, eaten corn dogs and drank more then their fair share of sugary lemonade before the night was done. Lisbon still clutched the bear like a child, passed out in the passenger seat as he drove her home.

He would have laughed if it wouldn't get him punched in the nose. He desperately wanted to bring up the fear that had alighted her face hours before, but had no clear way of doing so. He could manipulate her in her sleep, but the chances of it working were slim at best. Her threshold had been lower years before, and drugged at that, easier to manipulate. She was so on guard now that even getting her to relax would be a feat. Even in sleep she was fitful, tossing her head back and forth.

He'd have to work on getting her to trust him first. The trust he wanted wasn't built in a day, much less ten years. Jane trusted her implicitly but couldn't say the same for her of him. She had no reason to trust him after all.

Who could trust a man that got her fired, suspended more than once, shot, almost shot, almost blown up on occasion, targeted by a serial killer, abandoned by him after claiming he'd always save her, thereby implying he'd always be there, and told her he loved her only to take it back in a moment of weakness.

He wouldn't trust him either. But she was nothing less than the abiding saint, always willing and always there to pick him up and forgive him so easily.

He sighed heavily, the weight of his thoughts bearing down on his shoulders. Given a choice, he wished he could give up this lonely crusade of his. He wished he didn't need to have this vengeance. Wished his family wasn't dead.

But wishing wouldn't change a thing. And when he thought of the course of events, if his family hadn't died, he would not have met her. And a life without her was just as awful a thought as a life without his family. He made a promise to himself when he'd left for Vegas that he would do anything to keep her safe, even if it was from himself. He couldn't protect his wife and daughter, but he could protect Teresa Lisbon.

Leaving her, pretending she was nothing, ignoring her hadn't worked. She was still as big a target as she'd always been, Red John made that clear. Perhaps staying close would be the better way now. At least if she were taken, he would be with her.

He stopped the blue Citroen in front of her condo, cutting the engine. She barely shifted, out like a light. He felt sorry to have to wake her. She needed the rest.

Gently, he placed his hand on her shoulder, nudging her awake. "Teresa, you're home. Unless you want me to carry you inside, I'd advise waking up."

She grumbled out her protests. Cranky, as always as her eyes fluttered open, confused.

"Didn't mean to fall asleep, sorry about that," Lisbon said on a yawn. It was nearing midnight, and she was more than thankful tomorrow was Saturday. He smiled softly.

"It's alright, I don't mind a little drool on the old girl," he joked, patting the dashboard. She immediately ran her hand across her lips, narrowing her eyes tremendously.

"I do not drool, Jane!"

He put his hands up defensively. "Whatever you say, boss."

She tried to hide the irritated grin, failing to do so. "Did you want to come in for tea?" she asked, nodding towards her condo. There was a nervousness in her voice he'd never heard before. He couldn't help thinking she was trying to force something along, with the clothes and the festival, and wondered briefly if that was the unnamed emotion he'd seen in her eyes when they'd apologized: a controlled desperation.

She wasn't one to push for a romantic relationship, had never really given him an inclination other than questioning his "love you" all those months before. He supposed there were the little things, touches, gifts, trust falls, throughout their friendship. She followed rules almost to a T before she'd met him. They'd both changed outrageously in the past decade: she'd given up a good portion of her control, her reputation, and her morals for him, and he'd relinquished a good measure of his revenge, the lingering doubts of killing the man came softly in the past year. He had more to lose now than ever before.

"I'll walk you to your door, as per my old fashioned gentlemanly duties, but I must refuse your offer on pretense Teresa," he said with a smile, dissuading her frown with a wink. "Perhaps, next time."

_So there would be a next time_, she wanted to ask. She couldn't help feeling a bit insulted, followed by worried. She'd never been refused the little she'd dated in the past decade, and being refused by Jane somehow hurt more than she was willing to admit. The worry was there because of her timeline. Clearly she would have to up the ante if she wanted to be alive in eight weeks.

He got out of the car, coming around to her side to open her door, offering his hand. She smiled, but it was dim as he led her to her condo.

"Thank you for tonight Lisbon, it's nice to get out of the attic. I truly missed the beach as well. And since this was your plan all along, I suppose I should be the one offering the next non date."

The offer made her heart leap. Maybe this was going somewhere after all. "Sounds like a plan Jane. But I doubt you could come up with a non-date as good as my non-date," she challenged. A challenge was something he could hardly resist.

"I see your challenge, dear, and I raise you a challenge. I'll see you later, Lisbon," He smirked, before stopping and giving her a soft, quick peck on her cheek. "Good night, Teresa."

He was gone before she knew what to make of the peck. It was something. He'd never deigned to kiss her before. He'd kissed practically every woman they knew in some manner; Kristina Frye, Sophie Miller, Hightower, Erica Flynn (a kiss he'd confessed too after some needling), she was certain he'd given Van Pelt a peck before, having used her to go undercover in a small town setting, and of course Lorelei, on multiple occasions as well as sleeping with the witch. But never in their ten years had they kissed in a single instance.

Yes, it had to mean _something_.

XOX

When she woke the next morning, after her coffee had been made and she went to get the newspaper, a yellow envelope rested within the heavy pages.

No address, return or otherwise. Simply her name scrawled on the thick letter.

She slit the envelope cautiously, afraid of what she would find. And she should have been. Within the confines was a series of photographs, all taken from the carnival. So he was following her, or at least, had someone trailing them, keeping tabs on her progress.

A red permanent marker smiley face covered each of the photos.

"Motivation" was written on a single sheet of blank white paper.

She tore the photos into pieces.


	3. How The Heart Deceives

**A/N: **I know this is short, but it's powerful. I'm sorry it's been awhile, I've been so busy it's crazy, but I owe my dedicated readers, so this is for all of you. The lyrics throughout are "Try" by Pink.

**Sangre**

_Ever wonder bout what he's doing_

_How it all turned to lies_

_Sometimes I think that it's better_

_To never ask why…_

XOX

Lisbon refused to let the pictures get to her. She could pretend as if all were well in the world. She could pretend they were getting somewhere, yet another two weeks later and a case that had them constantly on their toes seemed anything but loathe to interfere.

The kind of case even Jane was having a hard time solving.

A teenage girl had been missing for three days before her body had been found, laid out in a white dress, a far cry from the workout clothing she'd last been seen wearing, on a pile of pristine white feathers of all things. She'd been stabbed multiple times, easily the cause of death.

They were all well distracted. Van Pelt was hunting down every cyber lead she could possibly find. Cho was interrogating their suspects a second time around, while Rigsby doggedly ran over any similar previous victims backgrounds for the third consecutive stretch.

She'd taken Jane to the murder site once again per his request, but nothing clicked for the typically arrogant consultant. They had all the pieces, they just weren't adding up.

"Something isn't…right here," Jane murmured more to himself than to her.

She glanced over from her position leaning against a tree, cell phone in her palm ready to update her team on the nothing they'd found. "What do you mean, Jane?"

"This isn't the work of a first time killer Lisbon. It's too…neat. Too precise. Whoever did this took care to plan out his actions meticulously. How many first timers do you know have the state of mind, after killing, to clean up so neatly? This is almost familiar. It's there, I just can't place it."

"Are you sure you aren't over thinking this? We have three suspects in custody, all of which have motive."

"And all of which also have strong alibi's. Lisbon, listen to your instinct. What is your intuition telling you right now?"

She hesitated, not wanting to voice her opinion. It was an opinion too close to home, to close to revealing her well kept secret. If he were ever to find out that she had met with his nemesis, they'd be finished. She'd never see Jane again, and that was a truth she couldn't yet deal with.

She swallowed hard. "Red John."

"Exactly," he answered firmly.

"But why this elaborate ruse then? Why stage it to like someone else? He can't be trying to keep us on our game, he's already got us on his hook. And you've said it yourself, he likes his credit. Where's his mark?"

He looked away, unable to answer that specific question. Truth be told, he wasn't sure himself how Red John had done this. "It might not have been him, he has a league of followers Lisbon. Who's to say one of his many minions didn't do it?"

"Look Jane, we're all exhausted, we've barely slept. We need to step back from this or we'll go crazy looking for similarities."

He hung his head, sighing heavily as he stood from his crouched position near the ground. He crossed the short distance to her as she pocketed her cell phone, deciding that the team could wait a bit. She felt uncomfortable in these woods, a dark feeling she couldn't shake crept over her and her body tensed. He sensed her fear, looking around as if searching someone out.

"You get the feeling we're being watched." It wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact. She nodded, the fear creeping over her skin, coating her in goosebumps. Her hand rested on her firearm, prepared to engage at any moment. If he asked what her gut was telling her now, well, her intuition was telling her to run. He placed a hand on her shoulder, still scouting their surroundings, silent, waiting.

The woods themselves had gone deafeningly quiet.

"Jane, let's go, there's nothing here," Lisbon said softly. He nodded distantly.

"Yea, you're right," he agreed, a little to readily for her nerves. She moved to grab her cell phone, this time to let the team know they were headed back when she felt the air break, the whoosh of something solid and fast flying past her head. Jane's reflexes seemed to be slightly more heightened then hers, as he pulled her to the ground before she realized what was happening.

"What the hell!" she yelled, head jarring against the hard earth. Jane wasn't exactly good at tackling people, and she took the brunt of the fall. She massaged the side of her head, a large knot already rising. "Really Jane? You're awful at saving people!"

She turned to make sure he was all right, but his gaze rested darkly on something lodged in the tree. She followed the path his eyes took, the color rapidly draining from her face when she realized what it was. And what it meant.

It was a Polaroid of them from less than ten minutes ago with Red John's logo; much like the ones she'd received in the mail a few weeks prior with the red smile happily drawn over it. The message was different this time, stuck in the tree with an arrow from a crossbow. It was a message meant for her, and by association, him.

_Better hurry._

XOX

She was distant and skittish the rest of the day, holed up in her office with the blinds closed. Her head still throbbed, but for a different reason. She debated, after the day's events, telling Jane everything that had transpired in the past six weeks. She was running out of time to convince him, seduce him, or whatever she was supposed to make happen.

Red John was watching her every move though. Clearly sending out hired guns to track her _progress_.

They hadn't divulged the photo to the team. Jane had taken it, knowing there'd be no prints anyway. There never was. They'd told the team about the arrow, the close call. The team was concerned enough about the arrow, and neither Lisbon nor Jane wanted to involve the picture and it's rather clear message.

Lisbon sighed heavily. She knew Jane was up in his attic, scouring through his little black book and analyzing the picture's meaning. She caved, desperately needing to see him.

She made her way to the stairs, hesitant to tell him everything she knew, everything she'd done, still trying to figure out the best way to broach the topic of her betrayal.

Maybe dinner would be the best way to go about it. Preferably somewhere public enough that he wouldn't be able to scream at her, or at least have it seen as inappropriate. His was a grudge that could be held for an outstanding, indefinite period of time, and that terrified her. It all boiled down to his inability to ever forgive her. She would fundamentally change their entire relationship with a few words, and drive a wedge between them forever.

It was a sacrifice she would have to make. He had to know. And she had to know how he felt, and if how he felt would save her life or end her.

Swallowing her fear, she knocked gently on the attic door.

"It's open Lisbon," she heard from beyond. She exhaled, pushing open the door.

He was meticulously studying his wall covered in photos, articles, names, and jagged red yarn lines leading to their connections. The wall had initially startled her, when he'd allowed her to enter his sanctum and had seen what exactly he'd been hiding for weeks. It no longer exuded the same shock; it became apart of the attic, as a piece of art would in an office. A strange, disturbing piece of art, to be sure.

The look in his eyes was practically manic. It was the always present half crazed glint he got when they were getting close to something Red John related.

She felt a sharp pang, even thinking the name.

"Hey, Jane, so…"

He interrupted her swiftly, a tinge of excitement lacing his voice. "Lisbon, I think I've made some connections regarding Leslie Evan's murder."

"That's great, Jane, but…"

"It's the feathers, that threw me. I don't think this is Red John, but I do think it's one of his minions. I heard back from the lab, and it's the same blade Red John uses. It's common, to be sure, but expensive. I think he's teaching them. I think they're using their own signatures."

"Jane!"

He stopped his tirade, owl eyed. "What?" he shrugged absently, thrown by the force in her voice.

She gaped, searching his confused expression. The light cast by the setting sun highlighted well cut cheekbones and shot streaks of gold into his already light hair; the inquisitive gleam in his eyes adding sparkle to their vivid ocean blue. He was beautiful in that singular moment. More so than he'd ever been, and she realized how weak she was.

She couldn't tell him. She was a coward, as much as he was, taking back his confession in the musty walls of a cold, gray warehouse while they hashed out their plan to deliver her "head." She didn't want to be the one to ruin them. Everything they had and could have. Lisbon couldn't take his wrath. She'd rather die by Red John's hand than be left to flounder in a world without Patrick Jane by her side.

Instead, she swallowed numbly, gaze unable to meet his. He patiently waited, equally measuring her movements. He realized she was waging a war inside, two tremulous thoughts converging on each other, and her thoughts were at a stalemate. He could see the pro and con churning in her blazing emerald eyes.

A decade long impasse of their own making.

The conspiracy wall was forgotten, as was his hypothesis of feathers and acolytes and knives. Her inner battle was all that he thought relevant in the moment. He knew, more than anyone, of missing moments. He'd missed the moment his life had changed and he'd lost a part of his soul. Missed his chance to correct his arrogance and greed.

He hadn't missed his chance with Lisbon, not yet. No matter what forces were against them, the rivers of blood always seemed to carry them back to each other. They'd had chances, to be sure, to act. But whoever said timing was everything hadn't met them.

They would argue later on who moved first. Not that it mattered.

His confused expression and the bewilderment of indecision on her face were lost to the darkening attic and the secrets its dust coated walls kept.

Regardless of who's actions caused the reaction, she'd been forced against the wall, and all she could feel was hands, everywhere, and hot breath and the taste of Jane as his mouth crashed, demanding, onto hers. As she wove slender fingers into the gold locks, she could only hope the attic didn't betray the confidence of _them_. She could only hope this was the one place he couldn't see.

Jane gripped her waist so tightly she thought she'd break, and she realized he'd stopped movement except for that pressure. He was hugging her, and she couldn't understand _why._ His lips remained on her hers, but had stilled in their exploration. She gently pulled back, breaking the kiss.

"Jane?" she whispered breathlessly. His face was once again hidden in shadow.

"When?" he questioned quietly. Her brow knit in confusion. He swallowed thickly. "When did you make a deal with him?"

She realized his fingers had drifted to her erratic pulse. And the jump in it gave her away, as much as physically jumping back against the wall did. If possible, she paled to such an extent that she was sure she was glow in the dark.

She flailed for speech again, before settling on sincerity. "How did you figure it out?"

He chuckled in the darkness, and it was eerie and distant. "Give me some credit, you're not hard to figure out dear. The fear that screamed on your face the moment you got back from 'getting lost' and the way you say his name now, like he's got a hold on you. You swallow before you say it, like it's physically hurting you. The sudden emotional shift, you're fidgety and spaced out all the time and your pen caps look like they've been through a shredder. The clothes, the dates, the nearness and the touching. What did he offer you, Lisbon?"

She closed her eyes against his blinding rage. "He offered me_ us_, Jane. He gave me ten weeks to convince you that you loved me, and if I didn't keep up my end of the bargain, I'd be next on his list," she said bitterly.

"How could you do that Lisbon! How dare you do that!" He practically screamed, the low rumble of the threat in his tone echoing like thunder.

"I did it to save us! I did it because I thought maybe it would be the easiest way to trap him! I thought maybe you loved me, even a little, enough at least to save us, Jane! Jesus, I did it to save _you_!"

He whirled on her. "I don't want you to save me, Teresa! Haven't you figured that out? I don't want to be saved! I want _them_ back!"

She froze at his turn of phrase. There was the rub. She was Teresa Lisbon, she was not Angela Jane and she would never live up to a dead woman. For all intents and purposes, she was a stand in. A glorified consolation prize.

He might as well have told her she didn't matter, again.

For once she couldn't hold back the angry tears, and they spilled forth as the dam broke. She backed out of the room with as much earth shaking poise as she could, and was down the stairs and out of the building before he had time to regret what he'd said.

And regret he did.

He'd dropped the reaper's scythe on her for the last time, and he didn't even know it.

XOX

Lisbon felt like a child, blinded by tears as she hastily drove home. It was moments like this that she longed for her mother, longed for that comfort. Her heart had never hurt so badly, and her worst fears had come to be.

She knew he was a hard man, but he'd sunken the lowest blow possible. He wanted _them_, he didn't want _her_. He'd had his family, and she would never replace it. She'd waited idly on bated breath for ten years, glimpsing bits of light in the cracks of his heart. She'd waited for him to see her standing there, and as years had passed them by, the realization that there were things she would probably never be able to provide him with had dawned clear as age wore her down.

At some point, she'd come to embrace that she would never have a family. She'd grown okay with the thought, as long as she had him.

Now she couldn't even claim to have that.

She pulled her car into the lot of her condo but couldn't bring herself to get out of the CBI issued vehicle. She rested her head against the steering wheel, sobbing like she hadn't since the death of her mother.

The opening of her passenger door startled her.

"You failed, Agent Lisbon."


End file.
